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Literature Text
In your garden yesterday
which you lodge among many loves:
a gentle, wishful sway
below the florid eaves;
I noticed the quiet leaves
had weathered each cruel ray
to foster the foxgloves
that flowered today.
which you lodge among many loves:
a gentle, wishful sway
below the florid eaves;
I noticed the quiet leaves
had weathered each cruel ray
to foster the foxgloves
that flowered today.
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
What I Lost
“I lost a finger,” Dolph proclaimed in a manner of startling, distant normality to his father, who had just ghosted by him into the kitchen to find something. His father paused like a clogged clock and spun suddenly on a hinge to see and confirm, and Dolph held up his hand to reveal his organic matter’s metallic replacement. “It’s just the pinky one.”
His father sluggishly pulled up a chair and printed sentences and fragments streamed from the printing compartment on his patchwork-junk face which Dolph had labored so fiercely to build and jumpstart over three years ago. Dolph reached for the re
Literature
Midnight Thought Process
Perhaps the trees live so long because they have no idea how long they've been around.
I stood with my wine glass and cigarette staring into the night as I heard the sound of fireworks, I wondered if the giant tree before me knew it was new years. There is nothing different from 11:59 to 12:00 yet we feel like it's a world away, because we judge many things in time, and we keep track of time in years.
I sat hugging a pillow, watching a 4 month old baby sleeping during his dream-feed and I wondered if the baby knew it was a boy. There is nothing different from a boy baby and a girl baby yet we feel like we have to define them because we judg
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Overall Vision Originality
Technique ImpactAlthough not a technical rispetto per say, it does work well. These two quatrains tell a story which a narrative couldn't tell in as many lines.
So far as I've found, I didn't find any particular stanza structure that needed working. The use of the rhyme scheme is well done, and maintains that rigor needed in maintaining the flow of this poem. Another facet to this poem, which I liked, was that it easily spoke about the title...
Saying its a good poem would be an injustice to it. Its a brief, concise, and fluid work of poetic rigor, which if not exactly a complete rispetto, might be taken as another form of traditional poetic form that I, as a critic, am unaware of.